


and I took you by the hand

by bronweathanharthad



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gibson's Real Name Is Philippe Hugo Guillet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27479359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronweathanharthad/pseuds/bronweathanharthad
Summary: follows the first 24 hours or so of Tommy and Gibson's, and eventually Alex's, companionship during the evacuation
Relationships: Gibson/Tommy (Dunkirk)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: 'Hands'





	and I took you by the hand

**Author's Note:**

> -title is from "After the Storm" by Mumford & Sons
> 
> -this is my first Tommy/Gibson fic so I'm sorry if it's bad

Sweat beaded on his forehead, but Philippe did not have the time to wipe it away. He had to bury the body before anyone else saw it.

He knew nothing of this dead man, only that his uniform looked the right size. And he had to bury him before anyone noticed a near-naked corpse. He was probably far enough away from the lines on the beach, but there was no time for a slow and proper burial.

He froze as an English soldier began to wander over. This soldier did not seem to be aware of him yet, but it was all the more reason to hurry.

The soldier squatted but quickly pulled up his pants upon realizing that Philippe was looking at him. The feet were still clearly visible – O God, he was coming over – wait, he wanted to help.

The soldier – a private, judging by his uniform – treated the deed with care. He did not seem to think that this was an urgent matter.

Philippe thanked the private for his efforts by offering his canteen. Their fingertips almost brushed as the private accepted it.

The private continued to the beach, and Philippe was not far behind him. One could not part ways with a helping hand during this time.

Tommy kept his grip firm on the stretcher as he ran. The curly-haired soldier, the one whose friend Tommy helped bury, gripped the rear of the stretcher just as firmly. The wind chafed his hands, but they couldn’t slow down lest they miss the ship.

The crew rewarded their haste by ordering them both off. Tommy made ready to leave defeated, but a quiet _psst_ brought him to the bottom of the mole, just out of the crew’s sight. The private’s hand offered a firm grip as Tommy found his balance, and there they waited.

Neither spoke – in fact, neither had said a word to each other this whole time – but there was a feeling of ease in their quiet. In the chaos of the evacuation, the frenzy of the gunfire and the bombs and the officers barking contradictory orders, quiet company became a balm.

But, of course, the quiet was not to last. The barrage sprayed water and debris into the air. If not for the ship taking most of the fire, they would surely have died. Passengers abandoned ship in droves. One was swimming in their direction and in danger of being crushed by the ship. Tommy moved as close as he safely could and offered his hand, pulling the soldier to safety just in time.

The soldier, another private, nodded in thanks. “Alex,” he panted.

“Tommy.”

“Hey, Highlander,” called a Navy officer. “Let’s find you another ship.”

Philippe gave Tommy a pat on the arm as they proceeded to the next ship. Despite the bombings of the beach and the Red Cross ship, they were still together. Philippe had not realized his desperation to find a companion, but now that he had one in Tommy, he knew that he would do what he could to keep Tommy safe.

What would become of them when this whole mess was over was anyone’s guess, and, of course, Philippe had no way of knowing if either of them would make it back to England. But even if he and Tommy parted ways for good, even if it happened tonight, Philippe would have no regrets about helping him.

Philippe reached down to help Tommy into the rowboat, but another set of hands pushed him back into the water. There was no hope in getting him or Alex aboard if Philippe was the only one that actually wanted that to happen. He couldn’t leave his friends behind. He wouldn’t.

Discreetly, he proffered a rope. Tommy and Alex grabbed it quietly. It would be a long haul back to the beach, but better to do this and stay together than wait for the next rescue boat.

The trip back to the beach felt years longer than the trip out, and Tommy and Alex’s arms burned from exhaustion, but neither relinquished the grip on the rope. When they finally got to shore, Tommy and Alex could only manage to stumble a few yards. Even for that brief walk, Philippe needed to help keep them upright.

Tommy and Alex were asleep almost before their bodies hit the sand, but Philippe didn’t join them in sleep. He was lucky he hadn’t been caught helping those two to shore. It would probably be a while before another ship docked, but he wanted to keep his eyes open for a little while just in case.

In sleep, Tommy looked as vulnerable as Philippe felt. Tommy responded to the situation with the maturity of an experienced adult; they had little choice. But in sleep he looked little more than a boy, one of many for whom war disrupted their youth.

Philippe inched closer and put his hand on top of Tommy’s. Their bodies had touched so many times, in exchanges of water and mutual rescues and the accidental shoulder bumps induced by crowded spaces, but in the relative quiet, when this touch did not come from life-or-death desperation, Philippe permitted himself to offer an “I am glad you are here” touch.

The past several hours of burying a body and dashing down the beach and prying open the door of a sinking ship had finally caught up to Philippe. He supposed he could close his eyes for a few minutes. If he died in his sleep, so be it. At least he wouldn’t die alone.

_He felt the reverberation of the torpedo’s strike in his knees. He ran from the incoming surge, but the surface was slippery, and no matter how much he ran, he seemed to move nowhere. The water was up to his chest, and he had no idea how to escape. Alex was nowhere in sight, nor was anyone else._

Tommy woke up panting, but he quickly became cognizant of a weight on top of his hand. It was another hand, that of the curly-haired private, who seemed deep in sleep.

There was a certain surety to his touch. There was no hesitation behind his outstretched reach and his pats on the arm. What did he do at home, Tommy wondered, to bring forth such a strong and certain grasp? Perhaps he painted or gardened or looked after nieces and nephews. Or perhaps the lack of definitive leadership inspired a leader’s touch.

But even in sleep the private denied himself the vulnerability of lying down. He deserved at least a brief restful sleep after everything he had done, but they could not afford that luxury until they were on the train in England.

Tommy sat himself up, still keeping his hand in the private’s hand. He had kept watch over Tommy and Alex, and now Tommy would keep watch over them.


End file.
